


A Little Prick

by NewToTheWaywardParty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Boy Melodrama, Character Development, Coming Out, Episode: s13e08 The Scorpion and the Frog, Love Confession, M/M, Quiet Moment, Sam Knows, Sam Ships It, single man tear, you're doing great sweetie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewToTheWaywardParty/pseuds/NewToTheWaywardParty
Summary: “You ever been so scared of something? Like, really freaking terrified…and then it turned out to be no big deal?”





	A Little Prick

The disastrous heist’s in their rearview, and Dean’s chewing the inside of his cheek until the tang of blood hits his tongue. He’s unsettled. Needs to have a damn B.M. Not the kind that’ll have him stopping at one of the more reputable-looking Gas-N-Sips. The kind about  _feelings._ **  
**

A sidelong glance at Sam shows he’s drifting off, soft brown hair smashed against the window. Raindrops catch headlights and sparkle as they gather, streak past Sam’s profile. Dean sighs, flips off the tinny radio. Now the only soundtrack is the Impala’s considerable road noise and wiper squeaks. “Hey, Sam,”

Sam grunts and blinks.

“You ever been so scared of something? Like, really freaking terrified…and then it turned out to be no big deal?”

Sam really looks at him now. “Yeah,” he replies, face thoughtful. “The tire swing.”

Dean grins. Back in what passed for their childhood, one of the hazy, nectar-sweet memories was a swimming hole near Bobby’s yard. Chuck only knows what kinds of bacteria or agricultural runoff polluted the water, but it was free and it’s where they taught themselves to not drown. Sam and Dean spent hours splashing in the leaf-dappled shade. Bobby, desperate to occupy the boys so he could work (and drink) in peace on the occasions John left him his sons to pursue vengeance, was the one to tie an old tire to a rope attached to the sturdy overhanging branch of a tree. Dean immediately dared to swing out from the rocks, higher than a second-story roof, and let go, falling, weightless, until the smack and sting of the water hit. Then he’d emerge, laughing and spitting an arc of water at Sam, who flatly refused to climb the rocks to the swing. **  
**

One day, Sam finally got sick and tired of Dean’s ribbing and gloating. He just white-knuckled it. Faced his fear. Climbed right up, got on the damn swing, and jumped off at the apex of its arc, falling silently and gracefully with little splash. After he popped up like a cork to the water’s surface, hair slick like a seal, Sam was never afraid to do it again.

Dean rubs the stitching of the steering wheel under his thumbs. Runs his tongue over the spot on his cheek he’s been chewing. “Yeah, um. So back there, in the vault room,” he begins. “Giving my blood donation? That sucked.” He glances at Sam, who nods.

“I had to put my hand inside this gargoyle’s maw. My imagination just kept showing me all the terrible things that could be inside the blackness. Like, crazy shit. Blades, snakes, spiders…” Dean trails off, embarrassed. A quick glance tells him Sam’s sympathetic brother look’s firmly in place.

 ****“Anyway, I really had to psyche myself up. Talk myself into it, you know?” Sam’s quiet. Dean can almost taste the haze of the rain hitting pavement underneath baby’s leather-and-gunpowder smell. Dean’s remembering how he blew on his hands like he was getting ready to shoot craps. Embarrassingly giving himself a pep talk in front of the judgy bunhead millennial safecracker.

 

 _Fears, ever-present. Terrible outcomes lurking past the unknown, shapeless monsters in the dark. His dad’s carelessly flung slurs, spindly legs creeping over Dean’s skin in his sense memory every time he looked at the slope of Cas’ shoulders and felt his arousal stir. Terror slithering, scaly in his gut every time his chest swelled with emotion every time Cas did something particularly_ Cas _. A hundred scenarios of his confession playing out, ending in blunt, stabbing confusion or cluelessness or indifference. Or worse: razor-sharp rejection, pity, Dean’s unworthiness and inadequacy bleeding freely._

Dean continues, “there was this moment of nothing, just…waiting. Then, a trap clamped down on my hand. I was stuck. I couldn’t pull out, and it seemed like the harder I fought, the harder the mechanism squeezed. I panicked. You know? Like, what’s gonna happen next? Am I gonna have my fingers chopped off? Are my wrists gonna get slit? Are some creepy crawlies going to swarm my arm and bite me?” Sam wrinkles his face in disgust. 

 

_A blade point emerging through Cas’ shirt, a blaze of blue-white light, and Dean was stuck, his heart clamped down tight. There’s no escaping the trap now, no denying his feelings any longer. Cas returning gave him another chance, but Dean’s still frozen, scared shitless, more unwilling than ever to lose him. The harder he yanks against Cas’ pull, the stronger his tide pulls Dean in._

“So, anyway, after my huge freakout,” Dean’s tone is lighter now, “‘prick’ goes a little needle and a tiny drop of blood comes out of my finger.” Dean conveniently forgets to mention the humiliating high-pitched scream he had emitted. “That’s it. Nothing like what I imagined. I felt so stupid, dude.” Dean chuckles but it comes out hollow.

 

_Is that what it would be like? A little prick, almost bloodless and certainly painless? Imagined grief only to be a big fat nothing? A feeling of stupidity and shamefacedness at his own fear?_

“Makes sense, I guess,” Sam says, awake now. “If the door was designed for its owner to access the safe, it couldn’t be huge digit-eating spiders or something.” **  
**

Dean grimaces. “Hey, man. Enough about giant spiders. I don’t tease you about clowns, okay?”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.” Dean smirks, levity easing into their interaction. The return of sibling ribbing is one of the ways life’s lighter now with Cas back. Sam shoves him on the shoulder, gently so as not to affect his steering. “Why are we talking about this anyway, Dean?” Sam turns to face Dean, leather seat creaking. The brotherly brows are knitted in the concerned face Dean dreads.

“I’m in love with Cas.” It slips out of Dean naturally. No dramatic pause. No buildup. No tension or angst. Just the easy truth. He steals a glance to gauge Sam’s reaction.

Sam’s smiling gently. “I know. But I’m still glad you told me.”

Dean nods. If Sam’s not gonna make it a whole thing, then he’s sure as shit not going to cry a single man tear over it. Let’s rip off the bandage while we’re at it, thinks Dean, overwhelmed with a memory of Sam setting his dislocated shoulder on ‘two.’ “Also, I might be kinda bi or whatever.”

Sam just nestles his head back against the rain-streaked window and yawns. Dean can tell he’s trying not to look too smug. “Mm hmm. I love you, man.”


End file.
